


I Feel Motherfucking Fine

by rouven_stat



Series: The Witcher One Shots [3]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Denial, Gen, Inappropriate Use of the Signs, Lambert-centric (The Witcher), Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-17 19:34:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28979709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rouven_stat/pseuds/rouven_stat
Summary: Lambert is sick. Everybody in the keep agrees on that. Well - everybody but Lambert himself.
Relationships: Eskel & Lambert (The Witcher)
Series: The Witcher One Shots [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2132289
Comments: 2
Kudos: 38





	I Feel Motherfucking Fine

"Are you coming down for breakfast or-," Eskel trails off as soon as he enters Lambert's room and sees the younger witcher splayed across the bed, covered in sweat. Dull yellow eyes try to focus on him, struggling greatly.

"Voltehre?"

Eskel flinches visibly, taking a step back. "No. Eskel."

"Ah, the great dragon of Kaer Morhen. You're back early."

"Back early? We've all come here within a week - almost a month ago, Lambert. What's going on?" His frown deepening, Eskel crosses the room and sits down next to the confused witcher who watches his every move warily. When Eskel reaches out to touch his forehead, Lambert reels back - but is stopped by the wall before getting out of the older man's reach.

"White Wolf here, too?"

"Yes, Geralt is downstairs. And you're burning up."

Running his hand through Lambert's hair, Eskel watches as Lambert slowly relaxes again, struggling to keep his eyes open. "Not burning up. Your hands are just too cold."

"You're completely out of it. You're burning up. You are sick, Lamb."

"Witchers don't get sick," comes the drowsy reply, and if he didn't have enhanced hearing, Eskel would have missed it.

"Apparently, they do. And you are."

He pats his cheek and gets back to his feet.

"I'll go fetch Vesemir and get you some tea. Don't move."

Eskel ignores the grumbling coming from the bed as Lambert curls himself around a cushion and buries himself deeper into the covers. Deciding that the comfort of the bed will probably win over the wish to escape Vesemir, Eskel accepts this as an answer and leaves the room, but not before using an igni to spur on the fire again.

Geralt and Vesemir are sitting in the kitchen, both shooting Eskel a questioning look when the scarred witcher arrives in the doorway, panting and without Lambert.

"Lambert's sick. I don't know how but... He feels too warm, he confused me for Voltehre, couldn't remember how long we've been here... He's sick."

After exchanging a worried glance, Vesemir gets to his feet. "I'll go up to check on him. Eskel with me. Geralt - prepare some tea, maybe some broth, and bring it up when it's done."

Two nods, then Eskel obediently follows his weapons trainer back towards the bedrooms while Geralt starts a fire in the kitchen.

When they enter Lambert's bedroom together, the younger witcher is standing, leaning heavily on the dresser while he tries to put some pants on one-handedly. He glances up at the two intruders with a snarl.

"I'm coming old man. Just need to get dressed."

"You're sick, Lambert," Eskel tries to argue but this time Lambert can backtrack far enough to avoid the fever-check. Vesemir watches with an intent gaze, not saying a word for now.

"Not sick. Just a bad night."

"You didn't recognise me. You didn't remember the past week."

"Every year's the same - can't blame me for losing track."

"Voltehre died centuries ago," Vesemir chips in, stepping closer to his pup now. He doesn't need to get any closer to know there is something wrong, he can see the sheen of sweat covering Lambert's skin, notices the slight tremors in his hands, and the heat radiates off him.

With a snarl, Lambert presses himself against the stone wall to keep the most distance possible between them, but sways dangerously. Eskel quickly steps up to him, and props him up by draping Lambert's arm over his shoulders, wrapping his other arm around the younger's back.

"Fuck off, Eskel!"

"You'll fall over and hurt yourself. Not on my watch."

"I'm fine!"

"Hm," Geralt comments from the doorway, holding a steaming mug of tea in one hand and a bowl in the other. They all know this 'hm' too well, it's his _'oh really'_.

Lambert pushes himself away from Eskel and shoots them a shit-eating grin when he stays on his feet. His vision is blurred with dark spots, but they can't see that.

"See? All by myself? I'm a big boy now, and I definitely don't need three wannabe moms to look after me."

Geralt hands the food and drink over to Vesemir for a moment before stalking over to his younger brother and pulling on his arm roughly. With a yelp, Lambert falls against him, held upright only by Geralt and Eskel who has stepped up quickly.

"Bed. Now."

And this time, Lambert keeps quiet, too focused on not throwing up on his brothers' feet to bother with a comment. Eskel helps him settle down on top of the bed, removing the half-pulled up pants again. He props his back up with a pillow against the headboard and takes a closer look on the paled face.

"Need to throw up?"

A nod.

And thank God for the Witcher reflexes that allow Eskel to grab an empty bucket from the corner and deposit it under Lambert's chin just in time.

While Lambert coughs up his dinner from last night, Eskel runs a hand up and down his back, waiting patiently. When Lambert is done, Geralt exchanges the bucket with the mug of tea - the soup will have to wait - and leaves the room.

"Drink slowly."

The youngest wolf scowls at the order, but obeys nevertheless, taking little sips from the mug that Eskel steadies. After a minute, he leans back, closing his eyes.

"Sleep, little wolf. I'll stay here."

After watching Eskel get more comfortable next to Lambert with a fond expression, Vesemir turns on his heels and leaves them to rest - heading straight into the library to look into possible causes for this seemingly mundane sickness.

Loud shouting alerts both Geralt and Vesemir that Lambert has woken up again. When they come closer to the bedroom, they can make out two sides of the conversation.

"The fuck do you want? Tucking me in like a fucking toddler! I'm not your fucking child! And I don't need you to look after me!"

The response is a lot calmer: "You're sick, Lamb. Just let me check up on you."

"I feel motherfucking fine!"

"You almost threw up on me. And were about to faint - twice. As long as we don't know what caused this, I will not let you out of my sight."

"Am I fucking three years old, or what? I survive every year on the path - I'm sure I will survive whatever the fuck this is."

A sigh, and Geralt smirks when he hears Eskel rolls his eyes. Next to him, Vesemir shakes his head. "He's right, he's not three years old. No toddler would be this difficult."

"Do we know what caused this?" Geralt asks.

"He's probably not sick in the human sense. There's no virus or bacteria causing this – and I doubt any poison would have gone unnoticed the past week. I think he's run down."

"With a fever?"

"His body is fighting symptoms of sickness the mundane way. It's just that these symptoms are caused by his head and not by an infection."

Geralt breathes out a sigh of relief and nods.

"So he'll be fine."

"Depends on how much patience Eskel has left before he throws him out the window."

The bedroom is quiet now, so the two witchers enter cautiously. Lambert is laying in bed, snoring soundly. Eskel is by his side, leaning against the headboard with a book in his hands. He glances up with his best innocent expression.

"We heard the shouting. What did you do?" Vesemir asks, looking down at the youngest sleeping peacefully.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Axii?" Geralt prompts. Eskel shrugs his shoulders, but can't surpress his smile anymore.

"Let's just say that he suddenly became very tired."

Vesemir snorts at that. "Used somne?"

"You heard the shouting. It was either that or fight him – I decided his body needs sleep more than a good punch to the stomach."

The other two witchers nod slowly, smiles spreading across all their faces as they settle down in the room as well, watching over their youngest pack member. It will be a while until he wakes up again.

"Eskel - I swear I will motherfucking kill you, you son of a bitch!"

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading.


End file.
